


One Twenty Four

by soulybad



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Reoccurring Themes, Roadtrip, Slow Burn, buckle up this is gonna be a long one, dream is not in tune with his emotions and george is a fkin idot, they are soulmates your honor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27647305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulybad/pseuds/soulybad
Summary: George’s presence smothers him in the most delightful way possible. His arms are around Dream’s torso, his face buried in his chest, and he might be laughing, or crying, Dream can’t tell. All he knows is George is beguilingly warm and familiar and comfortable, and Dream has a hand in his hair and it’s sosmooth, and he thinks for a second that he might pass out.Then, George tilts his head up, puts his chin on Dream’s chest, looks up at him with eyes carrying the whole universe, and Dream falls apart right there, in the middle of Orlando International Airport, with his best friend in his arms and nothing but an overpriced airport coffee in his system.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 181





	One Twenty Four

“ _Why’d you say that?_ ”

George’s words are laced with uncertainty, and his voice sounds choppy and shallow from Drean’s phone speaker. 

“Say what?”

Dream is roaming around his kitchen, half-assedly making himself a post-stream sandwich. He lathers one slice of bread in mustard before redirecting his attention to his phone when he doesn’t get a response. 

“Say what, George?”

It’s quiet, and Dream is about to speak up again when George answers him.

“ _What you said on the stream_.”

Dream rolls his eyes, picking up a second slice of bread. 

“You’re being very vague today. D’you really expect me to know what you’re talking about?”

An exasperated sigh comes from his phone. It sounds far away. 

“ _You’re an idiot_.”

Dream sets down his bread then, turning to look at his phone screen, wishing George’s face was there to glare at. He settles for angrily watching the time on their call go up, each increase in number another second George spends _wasting his goddamn time_. 

“What? You’re the one making me play fuckin...twenty questions.” 

He hears George sigh again. 

“ _About meeting up, an’ flying me out and stuff_.” 

Dream looks away from his phone, and dollops another scoop of mustard on his bread. He was comfortable with the dynamic he’d created with George on the internet, and, yeah, he played up a lot of stuff to appeal to their audience, but admittedly most of it was genuine. 

“Oh. I mean, yeah, of course. You know I’d love to meet you,” he pauses, reaching for the mayonnaise, “and you’re always welcome here. At my house.” 

“ _Oh_ ,” George says, and Dream thinks he sounds surprised, a little hopeful even. 

There's a comfortable silence for a few moments. Dream opens a package of ham.

“ _What’re you doing?_ ”

Dream smiles, and finds himself wishing again that he could look at George in this moment.

“I’m making a sandwich, what are you doing?”

“ _Cool. I’m not doing anything_.”

Dream feels his smile grow. 

“ _I’ll leave you to your sandwich then_.”

He peels apart two pieces of cheese, and smooshes them in between the bread, alongside the ham. 

“Stay. I’m pretty much done, so I can give you my full undivided attention and we can plan this trip.”

“ _Trip?_ ”

Dream picks up his phone with one hand, holding a plate with his painfully substandard sandwich in the other, and starts towards his room. 

“Yeah. You wanna come here?”

He hears George shuffling around on the other side of the phone, and just barely picks up a soft intake of breath.

“ _I- yeah. I wanna go there. Are you serious?_ ”

Dream steps into his room and closes the door with his foot before falling back onto his chair, slouching, setting the plate on his desk. He doesn’t think he’s stopped smiling since he started. He turns his phone off speaker mode so he can hear George’s voice closer. Anything to make him seem less far away. 

“Yes, George I’m serious. Will you let me fly you out here?”

And George _giggles_ then, and it’s high pitched and happy and Dream can picture his face perfectly.

“ _I mean, I guess so_.” 

The statement itself is stale and unenthusiastic, but Dream can hear the excitement dripping off of each word. He feels warmth spread through his chest, and he sinks deeper into his seat, letting thoughts of George, George _here_ , with him, fill his head.

“Okay- okay yeah, we could make this happen!”

George laughs again, and Dream joins him, his sandwich sat forgotten on his desk. 

It wasn’t til an hour later that he finally got around to his sandwich; they’d been talking so much, and neither of them had paused long enough to give Dream the chance to eat. He didn’t mind. He’d been too unwilling to stop talking to George anyways. 

Another hour later, George’s plane ticket was booked. It was spontaneous and poorly planned, rushed and not thought out in the slightest. It was everything that they normally weren’t, yet Dream hadn’t felt this sure about something in a long time. 

“ _Dream._ ”

“Hm?”

“ _I’m really excited to meet you_.”

Dream laughs, that soft, fond laugh that he’d subconsciously reserved only for George, and runs a hand through his hair.

“I’m really excited to meet you too.”

There's a short moment of comfortable silence before Dream speaks again.

“You gonna go to bed soon?”

A pause, “ _Maybe. It’s only_ ,” another pause, “ _one twenty four_.”

Dream nods, and his shoulders relax a bit at the thought of sleep. It was only about half past eight pm for him. He lets his head fall back, and feels his body sink further and further into his chair. It's early, but he might as well try to fix his horribly erratic (and honestly, unhealthy) sleep schedule now, so he’s not an absolute wreck when George flys out. It’ll be nice to not have to go to extreme lengths to sync up their sleep schedules.

“ _Dream?_ ”

George’s voice startles him out of his thoughts, “Oh, fuck, sorry I,” he laughs, “I nodded but obviously you can’t see me.”

George laughs then, and it’s warm and familiar and god, Dream can’t wait to hear it without their shitty phone speakers between them.

“ _Okay. I’m gonna go to bed, I think_.” 

Dream collapses into bed that night with the absolute most bullshit thoughts clouding his brain. Like, how strange it will be to see the sky from the exact same spot as George for the first time ever. Or, how long it’ll take him to adjust to the fact that he and George would get to eat breakfast together, use the same sink to wash their hands, sit on the same couch, drink the same shitty Florida tap water, use the same shampoo and conditioner. 

He wonders how long George takes in the shower. 

He rolls onto his side and laughs softly to himself cause, _George is gonna get to meet Patches_. 

It’s with an abrupt realization that Dream wakes up and it all properly hits him. George was going to be here. In America. In Florida. In his house. With him. In like, one fucking week. 

There has never been a time that George hasn’t been thousands of miles away from him. It’s been years of uncoordinated schedules, awkwardly timed calls, dreams of meeting up. It seemed so alien for George to be anything other than _far_.

He lays in bed for a few minutes, staring at his ceiling. He exhales, letting his eyes drift around his room, going over his dresser, his window, the painting hanging on his wall. They stop on the ‘Pumpkin Spice’ scented candle on his desk, and he wonders for a fleeting moment what George smells like. 

His brows furrow together and he mentally scolds himself for being a weirdo, before shaking himself out of his post-sleep haze and swinging his legs off the side of his bed, coming to a stand. His window is open, and if he focuses hard enough on the warm breeze drifting in, he can smell the sea. Drearily making his way over to the open window, he pulls the curtains apart, letting in a generous amount of light into his room, blanketing everything in a soft yellow glow. 

The sky is clear and bright, and he suddenly spins around and speedwalks over to his bedside table to grab his phone and shoot a text to George.

 _make sure you bring your colorblind glasses_ , he types hastily, and hesitates before adding, _i wanna watch you watch a sunset_. 

He hesitates again before sending the message, and places his phone face down on his bed before he has a chance to overthink. It’s not like he was nervous about talking to George, he hadn’t even said anything particularly questionable, yet Dream had a hard time shaking off the warm pool in his stomach and the tightness in his chest. He brushes it off as excitement, nervousness even, and that was valid, right?

Dream stands staring at the back of his phone for a moment, before leaning down and picking up a pair of boxers off the floor and tossing them in the laundry basket in the corner of his room. He’s barely picked up a pair of dirty socks when he hears his phone ding. He drops the socks.

_watch me?_

Dream feels his face warm up, and he mentally goes through every possible response he could use to save himself from embarrassment and settles on, _you’re so dumb._

He pauses, before following up with, _I meant that I want to see your reaction._

George responds almost immediately.

_and miss out on the sunset? i’d take a second to sort out your priorities if i were you._

Dream smiles, and sinks down to sit on the floor, his back leaning up against his bed. 

_I've seen plenty of sunsets_ , he types out, _but I've never gotten to see one with you_. 

It reads like a shitty cliche line that a main character would pull out of their ass during the ‘First Date’ scene, so he deletes the second half, and replaces it with, _I think it’d be funny to see you watch one_. 

The little text bubbles indicating that George is typing pop up on his screen instantly, and Dream stares at them with a burning intensity that was way too hot considering the context.

_oh yeah sooo funny, watching the colorblind guy try to figure out colors._

Dream bites back a smile, and almost feels guilty. _Funny isn’t the right word_ , he types, and glances up to look out his window at the multitude of blues and yellows in the sky. _Endearing, I guess_. He presses send. 

The text bubble returns. Dream slumps against his bed frame. 

_You think I’m endearing._

It’s not a question, though Dream doubts there’s not at least a bit of skepticism behind it. He slides further down his bed frame until he ends up on his back, staring at his ceiling, squinting through the patch of light that shone in from his window conveniently right onto his face. He raises his phone above his face, and stares at George’s message for just a little too long before replying, _I think you’re captivating._

He pauses before typing out a second message. _Don’t make me regret calling you humble that one time._

George takes a minute to reply, and Dream almost thinks he’s about to get left on delivered when his phone dings with a response.

_vc?_

Fortunately for Dream, George didn’t bring up what he’d said in their text conversation, but instead jumped right into planning more of their trip. He had greeted Dream with an exuberant _“Dream!”_ when he’d joined their call, and followed up with a list of ideas for things he wanted to do when he flew out.

“When exactly is your flight again?” Dream twirls a pencil between his fingers, watching George’s icon light up as he replies.

“I’ve got a connecting flight, so my first plane will leave Gatwick at like, hang on-” 

There’s typing from George’s side, and Dream balances the pencil on one finger as he waits for him to continue.

“Okay. My first plane leaves at about four p.m for me, on the twenty-third, and that would be like eleven in the morning for you I think,” he pauses again, and Dream can hear more rapid typing.

“That one’s seven hours, and then I’ll be in New York, and-” George groans, “I’ve got a _four hour_ layover in New York.”

Dream makes a sympathetic noise, and drops the pencil to lean forward, resting his elbow on his desk and placing his chin in the palm of his hand. “That’s okay, you’ll have airport wifi, so I can keep you company over FaceTime or something while you wait,” he smiles at George’s icon. 

“Hm, yeah, then it’s a two and a half hour flight to Orlando, and I should land at around just past one a.m, your time. On the twenty-fourth.”

January twenty-fourth. Dream’s eyes dart to the bottom right corner of his monitor, checking the date. Eight days from now, George would be travelling across the world to see him. 

“God, I can’t believe we finally managed to pull this shit together. I mean, fuck. Why’d it take us so long?” It was less of a question directed to George, and more of a question to himself. Of course he’d always wanted to meet George, as well as all of his other internet friends, and he’d tried, but it had never really ever fallen together right. 

He recalled the time he and Sapnap had been in the same town, on more than one occasion too, and still hadn’t managed to link up. He thought about Sapnap. Before George could respond to his last statement, he spoke again.

“What if we went to Texas?”

George laughs, and makes a fake vomiting noise. “What, and see _Sapnap_?” Although George had tried to spit out his name with mock disgust, Dream could tell it was clearly lighthearted and fond.

“Yeah, yeah, I could totally drive us,” he sits up in his seat, and despite knowing George can’t currently see him, he moves his hands animatedly with his words, “George! We can go on a road trip!” 

His voice carries through his home, loud and excited, and he hears George laugh again through his headset.

“I’ve never been on a road trip, and I don’t even know how to drive.”

“That’s fine, I’ll drive us, we can make stops, it’ll be your first road trip, George!” Dream is speaking faster than his brain can actually process the prospect of a road trip, but he doesn’t care. They’ve already planned a spontaneous trip across the world, might as well throw a road trip into the mix. 

“Oh my god, really? Actually?” George questions.

“Yes! I’ll message Sapnap, get him in here, see if he’s down.”

They’d pitched their idea to Sapnap the moment he joined their call, and Dream had felt his heart swell when Sapnap had instantly agreed. A few minutes later, Sapnap was whooping and cheering with them, marking dates down in his calendar, planning a route with Dream.

“Dream Team meetup, _fuck_ yeah baby!”

Dream’s cheeks hurt from smiling. 

The plan was relatively simple. George would land in Florida on the twenty-fourth, and stay at Dream’s for a night or two, to adjust to the time difference. They’d drive from Orlando to Tallahassee, stay in a hotel there for the night, and drive to Daphne, Alabama the next day. Dream had found a place there called Lake Forest (which was obnoxiously self explanatory), and booked them a hotel room by the lake for the night. They’d then drive from Daphne to Alexandria, Louisiana, repeat the process, and drive the final leg to Houston the next day. The driving itself would in total be about fifteen hours. 

Dream was laid out on his couch, his legs draped over one of the arms, with Patches curled up asleep on his chest. He’d spent the past hour booking hotel rooms and calculating the length of each stretch in his notes app, planning out everything to a T. 

He, George and Sapnap had continued bouncing ideas off each other for things they could do when they all got together for another hour or so after they’d sorted out the initial plan, but Dream had excused himself to tidy up his house and find hotels that had available rooms on such short notice. 

Now that everything was finally, _finally_ organized, he could take a moment to melt into his couch and think about anything other than planes and cars and hotels. Like how the fuck he was going to greet George at the airport. It was a thought that had resurfaced in his mind a few times actually, though he was quite unwilling to admit it. 

_How are you supposed to greet your best friend of five years who hasn't really ever seen anything more than your head and shoulders?_

He tried to imagine George standing next to him. He was quite a bit shorter than Dream, so surely if they hugged, George would go under his arms rather than over, right? Dream shut his eyes, trying to think of people in his life who were about the same height as George. He couldn’t come up with anyone.

_What if George doesn’t even like hugs?_

God. 

_Fuck, what if George goes for a fist bump or something?_

Dream exhales loudly, the release of breath startling Patches awake. 

“Help me, Patches,” he coos. Patches nudges her head under his chin, pressing her nose against his neck unhelpfully. Dream raises the hand that wasn’t holding his phone to stroke her back soothingly. “You stink.” he murmurs, before sinking into sleep. 

Dream spent the days leading up to George’s arrival indulging in so, so much Minecraft. He’d given up on correcting his sleep schedule, deciding that he’d rather just dive headfirst into fixing it when George gets here, rather than fall out of sync with him now. 

It’s been four days since they’d booked George’s ticket, meaning there are only four more days til’ he arrives. Dream is almost in denial about it honestly. Maybe because, regardless of the fact that he’ll be meeting George in person in less than a week, absolutely nothing has changed. He’s nervous, of course he’s nervous, but he wasn’t as antsy about it as he thought he would be. 

He’d cleaned up his house and set up the guest bedroom, making sure he made the bed, did all of his laundry, cleaned Patches’ litter box and picked up all of her toys. He plans on going grocery shopping a day or two before George leaves London, so he can cook something nice when he brings him to his house. 

Once he had gotten all the cleaning out of the way, he was practically glued to his chair, seated in front of his computer for the majority of every day, almost constantly in a call with George (and occasionally Sapnap, when he wasn’t busy doing Texas man things). They talked for hours every day, Dream not wanting to waste a single second he could be spending talking to George, whether they’d be spending the next few weeks in each other’s presence or not. 

They’d decided that a good amount of time for George to stay would be a little over two weeks, which would be more than enough time to drive to Texas, spend some time with Sapnap, and then drive back to Florida. Dream’s heart ached when he thought about George leaving, and he hadn’t even gotten there yet. 

“I have to take the train to the airport in five hours,” George said, his voice shaky and eager, “you’ll text me the whole time, right?”

“Of course. And I’ll be waiting here to greet you the moment you set foot on Florida ground.” Dream said, with no hesitation.

George laughs nervously. “Okay. Good.”

They’d been sitting in a voice channel for the past few hours, Dream practically counting down the seconds until George sets off for the airport. It was disgustingly early for him, nearly six in the morning, but he’d woken up at around half past one a.m to talk George through pre-travel jitters. 

“You should take a nap or something, George. You have a while til’ you have to leave for the airport.” 

He hears George sigh, “I can’t. Too nervous.” He sighs again. “I can just sleep on the plane anyways.”

“Alright, suit yourself. Either way, I’m happy to stay on call as long as you need me to.”

_This airport smells like toilet and old people._

Dream was sprawled out on his couch, some random sports channel playing muted from his TV, receiving vital updates from George as he waited for his plane to start boarding.

 _Bummer_ , he started to reply, _if it makes you feel any better, my house doesn’t smell like toilet OR old people._

George replies quickly, _I bet your house smells like piss and body odor._

Dream scoffs to himself. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t regret telling the world about his...pee incident. 

_You’re gonna be in for a real treat when you step into my home and get decked by the sweet scent of pumpkin spice and christmassy goodness._

Dream took pride in his two candles. His mom had gotten them for him for Christmas because, unsurprisingly, she’d gotten tired of going over to his house for their weekly lunch together and having to sit surrounded by the stench of ‘Greasy Gamer Boy,’ as his sister had put it. He hadn’t really lit them very often, until his plans with George had officially taken off, and he became increasingly self conscious that he _did_ reek of ‘Greasy Gamer Boy.’ So, he was pleased to say that his home now held the pleasant aroma of ‘Pumpkin Spice’ and ‘Cedar and Pine.’ 

_Alright, I’m holding you to that._ George replied, and another message came through before Dream could come up with a response to the first one.

_plane is boarding now. Talk to you in seven hours :]_

Part of Dream was discontented that he’d have to go seven hours without talking to George, but a bigger part of him was filled with an immeasurable amount of elation, because the next time they’d talk, George would only be a few states away from him. 

_okay :) safe travels._

Dream was, to put it simply, a wreck. It had been nearly eight hours, with no update from George. He’d texted him a few times, and had yet to get a response. He knew that there were countless reasons why George probably wasn’t responding, but Dream still paced impatiently around his house, looking for something to distract him while he waited for George to confirm that he hadn’t in fact perished in a horrible plane crash, which, for some reason unexplainable to him, was Dream’s first thought when it had passed the seven hour mark and he hadn’t gotten a text. 

He ended up staring blankly at his TV, a channel he wasn’t familiar with playing an awful reality show that he didn’t care for, trying to ignore the coil of worry in his stomach. 

Dream got about halfway through an episode before his phone started ringing, signaling an incoming call.

“George! Is everything good?”

He could hear a mass of voices distantly from George’s end, mingling with other various airport sounds.

“ _Dream, oh my god, it was so annoying, I sat in the plane for like, over an HOUR after boarding and it didn’t even move; I guess there was something up with the timing or whatever, I don’t even know what happened_.” George sounded more than exhausted, his voice soft and put out.

“ _But I’m in New York now. I- we’re in the same country. Same time zone and all_.” He continued, after letting out a worn out sigh. 

Dream collapses back onto his couch, realizing he’d risen to his feet at George’s call, a smile creeping its way onto his face. “Yeah, only a few more hours now. Holy shit.”

“ _Mhm. I’m so hungry. And tired_.” Dream laughs at that, and wraps his hand tighter around his phone, as if it’ll make time pass faster. Patches emerges from his room, and hops up onto the couch next to him.

“You’re so close George, so close. Patches and I are waiting for you.”

Dream stayed true to his word, keeping George company for the remaining two and a half hours of his layover, listening as George elaborately described some of the interesting people that passed him in the airport, hushed and excited, like children telling secrets under the covers at a sleepover, only for each other’s ears.

“ _And this lady, oh my god- she has a chicken in a cage, Dream, oh my god, that cannot be allowed_ ,” George laughs gently, interrupting himself. 

“I bet she put drugs in it’s butt or something,” Dream said, and it was barely above a whisper, even though he was in the privacy of his own home, with Patches as his only witness. 

“ _Wait, what if she_ ,” George is giggling too much to finish his sentence, the giddy, sleep deprived laugh that made him sound intoxicated and childlike, “ _-what if she like, you know that song about ‘Objects That I’ve Shoved Up My-_ ” “Oh my god, George,” and Dream’s laughing with him, too drunk on the sound of George’s laughs to care about being quiet now. 

It’s twelve thirty a.m, and Dream’s knuckles are white. He’s amazed that he’s managing to drive so steadily considering he was currently channeling everything he had into choking out his steering wheel. He’d long since turned on the radio, and some garbage pop song was playing, but all Dream could hear was the echo of George’s last words to him on the phone. He shoots a rapid glance at his car's clock.

_“See you soon.”_

He turned the radio off. 

_“See you soon.”_

He takes a deep breath, and tries to stop feeling like he was going to vomit out his whole heart. 

_“See you soon.”_

Dream really truly didn’t know why this cascade of anxiety was hitting him now, and he almost wanted to laugh at his own rapidly deteriorating normality, cause it was just George.

 _Just George_ , he repeats to himself in his head, _just your best friend of five years who makes your stomach do flips._ Dream lets out a deep breath that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in, taking in the city lights, the clear sky, the unexpectedly barren streets. He rolls down all the windows, and turns the radio back on. 

It’s a different song now, something slower, more soothing. He turns up the volume until the lyrics about _love and best friends and touching_ drown out his disquieted thoughts. He sticks an arm out of his window, rhythmically moving his hand with the cool wind. 

It’s twelve forty-three, and he’s in the free airport parking lot now. There’s people drifting in and out of the huge glass doors, and the fluorescent lights from inside the airport cast a dull blanket of light over the line of taxis and people waiting to greet their friends, partners, family. Dream checks the time on his phone, and tries to ignore the repeated pangs of anxiety piercing his stomach.

By twelve fifty-eight, he’s waiting at Terminal B-1, leaning against a pillar that has ‘Gate 32’ written on it in stark yellow paint, checking the time way too often. He’d spent just a little too much time making absolutely sure he was in the correct spot, re-reading George’s flight information over and over and over, until he was certain that his final living thoughts would be ‘Terminal B-1, Gate 32.’ 

George texts him at one eleven.

_just landed._

Dream goes up to the 24hour cafe that stands warm and inviting a few feet away from the pillar he’s practically burned a hole into with his shoulder, and buys himself something disgustingly sweet and insanely caffeinated. If someone were to ask him what he was drinking, he wouldn’t have an answer. He didn’t really even like coffee, but he finishes it in two minutes and resumes his post against the pillar. The coffee doesn’t make him feel any better. 

The gates open at one twenty-two, and people start filing out, wearing mechanical looks on their faces, carrying themselves with a boundless amount of fatigue that Dream, in this moment, envies.

He sees George at one twenty-four, and he thinks a million things and nothing at all as they meet eyes, and then, George’s suitcase is on the floor, and he’s in his arms, and Dream is suffocating.

ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: Show Me How - Men I Trust  
───────────────⚪───────────────────  
◄◄⠀▐▐ ⠀►►⠀⠀ ⠀ 1:24 / 3:35 ⠀ ───○ 🔊⠀ ᴴᴰ ⚙

**Author's Note:**

> HI! I started this work a long time ago and recently decided to start it back up again!! I have done an embarrassing amount of research for this fic and have put a lot of time into it already (I have the first few chapters written). I hope you can get as invested into this story as I am lol :)
> 
> Also, if any creators in the story express their discomfort with having fanfiction written about them then I'll delete the work <3


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